


Weapon Unleashed

by kronette



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Dark Will Graham, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Murder Husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 03:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15621975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: Both Will and Hannibal have their weapons of choice and wield them with deadly accuracy. Hannibal had had his fun. Now it was Will's turn. For #BottomHannibalDay





	Weapon Unleashed

They each had their weapon of choice and wielded it with deadly accuracy. 

Will’s body bore the scars of Hannibal’s bladed weapons, but the lacerations to his mind continued to weep years after the fire nearly consumed it. Hannibal’s curiosity was perhaps the deadliest weapon in his arsenal and Will had yet to tire of its attention. Healthily wary of it, but never _bored_. 

Will had a selection of weapons at his disposal that he used to their full potential. A carefully selected phrase at the opportune moment could do just as much damage as Hannibal’s teeth sinking into his flesh. A delicately dropped hint could change the course of someone’s life just as easily as Hannibal’s nails carved bloodied half-moons into Will’s skin. An afternoon of silence rang louder than the bone saw in the concealed room downstairs. A pointedly avoided discussion topic roused animalistic instincts to dominate, while the soft press of lips stirred the unwanted desire to submit. 

Will Graham had become an expert in Hannibal Lecter’s emotional states and how to manipulate them to his demands.

Staring out at the cloud-covered night sky, Will’s skin felt stretched too tight over his bones. The air was compressed and humid, reminding him of Louisiana summers. The ache that had lived beneath his damp skin had sunk deeper and deeper until he knew the time had finally come.

It had been nine days since he’d allowed Hannibal to touch him. Nine days of deliberately avoided kisses; of dodging hands intent to caress his neck or shoulder or hip. Of slipping off to bed while Hannibal was still reading or composing and pretending to sleep when Hannibal joined him in bed, the ruse painful in its obviousness but effective nonetheless. Will wasn’t in the mood for Hannibal’s intimate company and he had worked Hannibal so thoroughly that Hannibal didn’t push or press for details.

Hannibal simply waited. He had no choice but to wait for Will, because the reward for waiting was often transcendent and always unreserved. The punishment for impatience was to further delay the reward and that served Will’s emotional needs far more than it did Hannibal’s. 

Will wasn’t feeling overly generous when he approached Hannibal stretched out on the sofa, pretending to read. Will had felt his presence all evening, a tightly coiled tension of _waiting_ souring the air. It was the final click in the cog of Will’s brain that signaled him to pocket some lube after dinner in anticipation. 

Shoving the book carelessly out of Hannibal’s hands, Will forced his knee between Hannibal’s hip and the sofa as he clutched at the back, fighting to maintain his balance while hovering over, but not touching, Hannibal. 

The awkward pose put a strain on Will’s muscles that he refused to acknowledge. Each breath was carefully modulated, neither of them willing to expose their underbelly in this battle of self-control. 

Keeping his gaze firmly on the slightly parted lips, Will informed Hannibal, “I need to fuck.” 

It was crass and vulgar and said with a hint of offense, as if Will himself was disgusted with the needs of his own body. But it wasn’t that he _needed_ ; it was that he _wanted_ , body and mind coalescing in the same desire at the same moment. 

Hannibal showed no outward sign of interest, his reactions always impeccable even with Will’s body mere inches from his own. Attuned to Hannibal’s predisposed emotional state, the subtle shift in awareness was unmistakable to Will: Hannibal did not overlook the omission of himself in Will’s declaration. ‘Need to fuck’ and ‘need to fuck _you_ ’ were two entirely different statements and Will never, ever misspoke his intentions. 

Maintaining the awkward position, Will let himself sink into the familiar scent coming from Hannibal’s overly warm skin, deepening his arousal and feeding his desire to _take_. 

Abruptly pushing himself upright, Will worked Hannibal’s trousers open, angling himself off the sofa to pull them off of Hannibal’s legs. He left shoes and trousers crumpled on the floor as he stripped off Hannibal’s underwear, leaving Hannibal in his perfectly done up shirt and properly buttoned cuffs and nothing else. 

Hannibal didn’t move his legs from where Will had dropped them, didn’t bother to blink as he stared at Will in an almost polite inquiry. 

Will ignored him, focusing on undoing his belt and zipper and removing the lube from his pocket before shoving Hannibal’s knee against the cushion back. Holding it in place, he made room for himself between Hannibal’s legs, pushing Hannibal’s other knee to the edge of the sofa. 

Body now on display, Hannibal kept his expression closely guarded, though Will easily read the flicker of annoyance and impatience. 

Will flipped open the lube and smeared enough over his fingers to start preparations, knowing how much Hannibal actually needed and how much he preferred. As he fell into the routine, Will let his lust wash over him, driving him to his base instincts and not caring who he was about to fuck, only that it was a warm body that was yielding to his ministrations. 

His breathing was loud in the quiet of the room, interrupted only by the crude sounds of his fingers entering and stretching the hole he was about to use. Struggling to arrange himself in a better position, Will hooked a knee over the crook of his arm and pressed upward, driving the hips off the cushions and into the perfect position to sink his dick inside. 

Stillness. 

Even his breathing ceased for a few glorious seconds, reveling in the peace that enveloped him. 

His mind remained blank as he began to move, pleased at the friction and give of the body beneath him, hard and soft in all the right places. It didn’t take him long to find the rhythm he wanted: slow and drawn out, wanting the low burn of arousal to stay with him as long as possible. 

Eight points of pain pressed into his shoulders through his thin t-shirt as Hannibal shifted restlessly beneath him. Will’s rhythm didn’t falter. He kept chasing his own pleasure in his own way and at his own pace. 

Instead of the brutal thrust that Hannibal was demanding, Will rolled his hips in a gentle arc, causing the breath to stutter from Hannibal’s lips as pleasure devastated them both.

Will pressed his face into the crook of Hannibal’s neck, lips sliding against the sweat-damp skin as his body continued its slow undulation. Eventually his arm tired of holding up Hannibal’s leg and Will slipped his arm free. Hannibal’s leg immediately hooked over his waist, its heavy weight disrupting his smooth motions. 

With a hiss of displeasure against Hannibal’s skin, Will grasped the arm of the sofa above Hannibal’s head and leveraged himself to a different angle, one that pleasured him and frustrated Hannibal—a position refined over months of experimentation.

Hands roughly shoved his t-shirt up and clawed at his back, a favorite tactic of Hannibal when he was unable to verbally express his true feelings. Will’s mouth was caught in a savage kiss that he allowed, anticipating Hannibal’s need to retaliate against the gentle yet distant treatment. His body’s demands were increasing, extremely grateful for the endorphins building but needing _more_. 

Meeting Hannibal’s intensity and savoring the mixture of reverence and dissatisfaction, Will pressed himself deep with his full weight, earning a choked noise and fingernails slicing the skin along his spine. 

“You want to crack open my ribcage.” Will spoke directly into Hannibal’s ear, voice confident and taunting. “Sink your fingers into my flesh until they wrap around my ribs, then break them off one by one. Use them to skewer my heart and roast it over the open flame in the study. Eat it whole.” 

Eyes ablaze with hunger and knowing, devotion and anguish, Hannibal devoured him the only way available to him, through teeth and lips and tongue over shoulders and neck and chest, leaving a trail of bloody welts as Will neared his climax. 

Breathing grew difficult as Hannibal’s arms and legs tightened around him, forbidding him from filling his lungs, controlling even that autonomic function as Will’s body demanded release in all ways. 

Will locked his gaze on Hannibal’s as he gave in, his body lost to orgasm as his mind was bared to Hannibal, always at this moment stripped of every pretense, every artifice, a purity that neither could survive elsewhere. 

It only lasted a few seconds until Will had to shutter himself away, back into the cocoon of protection that was merely an illusion they shared. 

He buried his face in Hannibal’s neck to hide the hot tears that slipped down his cheeks, though he knew Hannibal had seen, just as he had seen the mirrored sheen to Hannibal’s eyes. 

They destroyed each other only to build the other back up, fated to repeat the process until one of them would be too broken to put back together. Will knew Hannibal expected _him_ to be the one who broke first, but Will had survived Hannibal all these years, through mental and physical abuse, through agony and ecstasy. 

All it would take for Will to destroy Hannibal was a carefully selected phrase. A delicately dropped hint. An afternoon of silence or a pointedly avoided discussion topic. 

Will fluttered kisses up Hannibal’s neck, jaw and cheek to his lips, where he lingered with a breathless kiss. Eyes still soft and sated, radiating happiness, Will whispered, “I love you.” 

And watched Hannibal break.

The End


End file.
